


Clockwork Heart

by ardentaislinn



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Healing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2014-11-15
Packaged: 2018-02-25 11:35:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2620310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ardentaislinn/pseuds/ardentaislinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fitz knew he was broken. But he was finally ready to believe he didn’t have to stay that way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clockwork Heart

It started with something Jemma had said, rather offhandedly. _“Broken things can be fixed, Fitz,”_ she’d murmured softly, handing him the tool he’d dropped in frustration. _“It’s your job and your talent and your calling. You can do this.”_

At the time, Fitz had been more inclined to believe she was full of it. But then her fingers had brushed against his weakened, trembling hands as she gave him the screwdriver and his heart had jumped in his chest.

As hurt as he was by the fact that she had left, he still loved her. And he had made his peace with the idea that he always would. However, he had no idea how she felt, and he was too disappointed in himself to ask. If he wasn’t sure that she had loved him at his best, could she ever love him at his worst?

A determination blossomed in him.

Fitz knew he was broken. But he was finally ready to believe he didn’t have to stay that way.

By the end of the day, he was already making plans. He knew he would have to do better at the physiotherapy activities that had been assigned to him. But he could also work on other projects to increase his precision and hand-eye coordination.

His new plan gave him a sense of purpose. He knew what he wanted to build, and he would keep trying until he got it perfect.

It was a slow process. His hands shook and cramped whenever he tried to work on the delicate gears for too long. He persisted, thinking of Jemma, of the team, of _himself_ , any time he felt like giving up. His hand’s were a machine that just needed the right tuning.

Eventually he started noticing a difference. So small at first that he knew no one else would see it. He could stay at tasks longer, tinker with more delicate equipment. He couldn’t help a swell of pride at himself, and wished he could tell Jemma. Hell, anyone at all.

But he knew he needed to keep it a secret. He had to do this for himself. If he told anyone else and he failed…well, he’d never live the embarrassment down. Besides, if any of the other team members knew, then they might want to help. And that would defeat the purpose.

He only worked on tiny pieces of the puzzle at any time, not willing to let anyone see it taking shape. Jemma was curious, he could tell. But she didn’t push. She hovered carefully, instead, but Fitz didn’t mind so much. At least she was here and real and wanted to be near him.

And then one day it was done.

Fitz stared at the box for a long time before sighing happily. It was like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He felt lighter, stronger, restored. He knew he’d never be the same as he was, but he’d worked hard and earned the improvement that he’d gained.

He considered for a while just not showing Jemma. He’d achieved what he’d wanted to, after all. But he’d made it for her as much as himself, and he wanted her to be proud of him.

So he went to find her.

She was sitting alone in the darkened kitchen with a cup of tea curled absently between her hands as she stared off into the distance. He watched her for a moment, inordinately satisfied by the sight and sound of her lungs pulling in air. He’d nearly lost her once. He had no intention of doing so again.

“Jemma?” he asked. She spun around in surprise, almost dropping her cup.

“I didn’t hear you come in.” Her voice was soft in the nighttime stillness.

“Can I show you something?” he asked instead, not sure _(never sure)_ what to say to her. He didn’t want to lose his nerve now.

She nodded and rose, ducking her head and tucking her hair behind her ears before following him out. He recognised that gesture; she was nervous. He had no idea whether that was good or bad.

When they stopped outside his bunk, Jemma hesitated before walking through the door. It occurred to him that this was the first time she’d been in here since the accident and an aching sadness settled over him at everything they had lost.

“It’s over here,” he told her, gesturing to his desk.

She gasped when she saw it, her hand automatically reaching out to touch the intricate mechanisms surrounding the box but hovering over it instead.

“Go on,” he told her. His mouth went dry as he watched her fingers skim lightly over the lid. She found the catch and pressed, gasping slightly as the gears began to click and whirl in a complex pattern. Jemma’s hand crept unconsciously into his as she stared at the moving parts on the table in front of her. He squeezed softly in return.

Eventually, the lid of the box sprang open to reveal an inside modelled on a music box. However, instead of a ballerina, there was a miniature microscope, twisting in place and strangely elegant. The interior was made of more tiny cogs, tightly packed in together.

The lid of the box stayed upright. In place of the mirror that would have reflected the dancer, there was a close-up photo of the two of them. It had been taken on their first day on the Bus. Jemma was looking slightly to the side of the camera, her face adorably scrunched in amusement at some inanity he had said. But it was the look on Fitz’s face that was the reason he had never shown the photo to her previously. Even before he had understood what that look had meant, he knew that picture would change things. The Fitz in the photo was looking at Jemma, and his expression was utterly unmistakable.

“Oh, Fitz,” Jemma whispered.

“You like it?” he asked nervously.

She tore her eyes away from the box to look at him. Tears glistened in her eyes as she nodded. “You made this?” she whispered.

He shrugged modestly. “It was a test for myself, but was always meant to be a gift for you.”

She grinned. “I knew you could do it. I’m so proud of you.” A knot in his chest that he hadn’t known existed eased at her words. He smiled in return.

Fitz realised that he still held her hand in his own. He brushed his thumb over her hand, a soft whisper of sensation. After a brief second of hesitation, Jemma threw herself into his arms. He held her tight, missing this connection, this closeness between them.

They stayed that way for a while, and Fitz just breathed her in. Her very presence was a gift he would not take for granted ever again.

“Thank you,” Jemma murmured.

Fitz stepped back from her so that she could see his eyes. “You’re more than welcome,” he told her sincerely.

Without breaking their gaze, Jemma reached up to cup his cheek, stroking her thumb across the stubble with a faint rasp. Fitz’s blood suddenly thrummed through his veins and his entire body was very aware of her. He felt a pull between them, like magnets, destined always to meet and attach.

They met in the middle, their lips pressing softly together. Fitz felt the last broken piece of him click into place.

He may never be the same again, but he was no longer broken.


End file.
